


Forbidden Fruit

by canistakahari



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Computers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Presents, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The white device appears in his shop just after lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mackem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/gifts).



The white device appears in his shop just after lunch.   
  
Aziraphale doesn't notice it right away; getting through the doorway with arms full of bulging paper bags is task enough, particularly when one is wrapped in a thick puffy coat and long woven scarf, and has hands encased in mobility-limiting mittens. It's a miracle he doesn't drop everything all over the floor - though not a  _real_  miracle, because the chaps upstairs frown upon the everyday use of that sort of thing.   
  
No, he doesn't actually notice it until mid-afternoon, when his purchases have been put away, the kettle is on, and Aziraphale has settled down in an armchair with a plate of chocolate digestives and a volume of Edgar Allan Poe.   
  
It looks like a large, flat book. It's bright white, with an apple on one side. Aziraphale picks it up tentatively, running well-manicured fingers over the smooth surface, a faint frown between his eyebrows.   
  
"What on Earth is this?" he asks aloud. He runs his fingers along the seam, and carefully pulls the object open.   
  
It's a computer. Aziraphale knows  _that_  much. He sighs, closes it, puts it on the far side of the table as though it might come alive and bite him, and goes back to his book.   
  


oOo

  
  
"So," says Crowley as he enters the shop, in lieu of an actual greeting. "How do you like it, then?"  
  
Aziraphale levels his best Librarian Stare over the tops of his reading glasses. They're completely and utterly useless to him, much like Crowley's sunglasses, but it's one of those things they've mutually agreed to avoid commenting on and simply ignore.   
  
"What's that, my dear?" he asks, turning a page delicately. "You neglected to qualify the subject of your sentence, so I'm sure I'm quite ignorant of what it is you could possibly be asking about."  
  
"The computer," says Crowley, picking it up and waving it at Aziraphale. "How do you like it? You mentioned you wanted to learn about 'the internet, or whatever nonsense'. So, here. I've brought you the internet, angel."  
  
"That was  _three years ago_!" protests Aziraphale.   
  
"I've been busy," says Crowley, waving a hand. "I've been working on outgoing telemarketing calls. They're actually more irritating than they were before. You could do research, you know. On anything you liked. It doesn't even need you to register for an internet service. It just works, once you turn it on."  
  
Aziraphale gives him a look of faint horror. "My dear boy," he says, gesturing vaguely at the musty shelves surrounding them. "Why ever would I need anything other than what's already around me?"  
  
"You," says Crowley, turning on the laptop and setting it on the table, "Are living in the past. I'm well aware you regard modernity and change as little more than a stubborn inconvenience, but take a look at this."  
  
He turns the computer toward Aziraphale, who leans in to squint hesitantly at the screen. "What is that?" he asks.   
  
"A website," says Crowley, proudly, "Where you can order expensive, gourmet chocolate. Which is brought directly to your door."  
  
Aziraphale makes a noise of gentle curiosity. "Well. I suppose it has its uses," he sniffs, slipping a bookmark between the pages.   
  
Crowley peers at the screen and types something else, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, before turning the laptop around again. "And here. Ebay. Isn't this the first edition volume of Lewis Carroll you were searching for?"  
  
This time, Aziraphale makes a noise of definite urgency. The laptop moves very quickly from Crowley's hands to his, and for someone who once disdainfully described typewriters as 'far too modern, what's wrong with a pen and paper?', Aziraphale learns how to use the keyboard very quickly.  
  
He also learns how to rapidly and ruthlessly win an auction.  
  
Crowley is impressed, though he'd never say so.


End file.
